


Tipping Point

by VioletHaze



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, PWP, gracegasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 07:18:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5447951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHaze/pseuds/VioletHaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight will be another night of of keeping each other at arm’s length. Another night that will bleed into a tomorrow filled with unnecessary touches that linger a moment too long, another day of dancing around each other like they have for years. It’s better this way. Less complicated. Cas is here. He’s safe and sound and Dean is grateful just to have him nearby. It should be enough. </p>
<p>He tells himself that even as he puts a hand on Cas’s wrist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tipping Point

Grumbling about crappy construction, Dean twists the knob and leans his shoulder against the unlocked motel room door until, with a scraping sound, the door finally gives. As it swings open, his weight shifts onto his bad ankle and he stumbles into Cas.  

“Just let me heal it,” Cas says again, supporting Dean as he hobbles over the threshold from the cement walkway to the threadbare carpet of the room.

“You don’t need to be wasting your grace on something small like this.”

“If it’s small, then it shouldn’t take much to heal,” Cas counters.

“I said don’t worry about it.” Dean pulls out of Cas’s grasp to walk unassisted to the bed closest to the door. It’s only a few steps but the pain flares with each one and he drops heavily onto the foot of the bed.

Cas stands and regards him silently. It won’t take much to re-start the argument, so Dean shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and stares pointedly at the floor. Eventually Cas sighs and turns away, his coat billowing behind him as he makes for the bathroom.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Dean had injured himself in some dramatic fashion. If he’d been thrown across the room by a demon or wrenched it tackling a bad guy he would’ve put up a token protest, then let Cas heal it along with whatever other injuries he’d accrued in the heat of battle.

But no, in an act of stunning stupidity, he’d managed to misjudge a curb as they’d checked out a vacant lot where a body had been dumped. To further add to his shame, Cas had--of course--seen him stumble, appearing at his side in what may have been a grace-aided flash. Dean had waved him off even as the pain made his eyes sting.

It was his driving foot, but he’d pushed through to get them back to the motel, curling his fingers more tightly around the steering wheel when his ankle began to throb. He’d refused Cas’s offers of help and finally resorted to ignoring him as he looked balefully from the passenger seat.

Gingerly, Dean gets up and limps the few steps back to the door to switch off the overhead light. He returns to the relative comfort of the sagging bed and lets himself flop backward, feet still on the floor.

He’s getting old. If it wasn’t today’s sprained ankle, it’s the tightness in his lower back that plagues him most mornings or the way his left knee low-key aches nearly all the time. Dean tightens his jaw at the very thought of Cas depleting his still-vulnerable grace trying to keep the inevitable at bay.

When Cas opens the bathroom door, harsh florescent light spills out into the darkened room and Dean flings an arm over his eyes.

“At least take these,” Cas says, standing between the two beds.

Dean opens his eyes long enough to see him holding out some pain reliever and cup of water.  Grudgingly compliant, he sits up to take the offering, pretending not to notice when their hands brush. He considers dry-swallowing the pills in some pathetic declaration of independence, but that’s a guaranteed recipe for heartburn later on so he drains the glass of water, conscious of Cas’s eyes on the line of his throat as he drinks. He holds out the empty glass for Cas to take, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and lies back again. He just needs to rest for a few minutes then surely he’ll gather enough energy to get ready for bed.

Wordlessly, Cas sets the cup on the nightstand and crosses toward the door. Dean waits to hear it open and close again behind him but instead he hears a swish of fabric as Cas takes off his coat. A moment later, he feels a hand on his boot, gently untying and loosening the laces. Even so, Dean hisses as the boot is eased off, his ankle throbbing with a fresh wave of pain now that the leather no longer braces it.

When Cas reaches for the second boot, slipping his hand under the denim at Dean’s calf to to get to it, Dean sits up.  “Cas.”

Cas stops, resting his forehead on Dean’s knee for a moment before sitting back on his heels, his hands raised in a gesture of defeat. He’s down a few layers to his tie and white shirt now, Dean sees, the sleeves rolled up. 

It’s a game they play, a contest of how many times they can innocently touch each other. A hand on a shoulder, the tug of a sleeve, knees bumping under the table. Factor out the frequency and duration, and every touch is reasonable and justifiable and _safe_. But here, in the unconstrained privacy of their room, Dean knows it’s up to him to keep everything in place.

Without looking as Cas, Dean removes his other boot himself, dropping it to the floor with a thud. Dismissed, Cas reaches a hand to the edge of the bed to raise himself back to his feet, deliberately choosing a spot that ensures he won’t touch any part of Dean. 

Tonight will be another night of of keeping each other at arm’s length. Another night that will bleed into a tomorrow filled with unnecessary touches that linger a moment too long, another day of dancing around each other like they have for years. It’s better this way. Less complicated. Cas is here. He’s safe and sound and Dean is grateful just to have him nearby. It should be enough. 

He tells himself that even as he puts a hand on Cas’s wrist.

When Cas turns to look at him, eyes wary in the rectangle of light that stretches from the bathroom door, Dean bends forward and kisses him.

He kisses him once, then pulls back just enough to feel Cas’s breath, hot against his skin. When Cas doesn’t move away, Dean leans in again, this time tugging Cas up off his knees by his tie, tipping his own head back to keep their mouths together.

Cas stands, his hands tentatively drifting onto Dean’s shoulders as they kiss. When the angle gets too awkward, Dean puts a hand to Cas’s chest and Cas stops and steps back, eyes full of apology. Before Cas can say a word, Dean pulls off his own jacket and tosses it to the floor. Taking one of Cas’s hands in his own, he scoots toward the head of the bed, using the heel of his uninjured foot to propel himself. Cas follows him, climbing onto the bed and between Dean’s open legs before Dean leans back, tugging Cas down with him.

In the times Dean had let himself imagine this, it had always been a frenzy of activity: a tipping over from violence to frantic grasping and flying buttons as they tried to cling to something that would never last. Dean should be grabbing at Cas, clutching feverishly, but instead their explorations are hesitant and uncertain and Dean can’t stop touching Cas’s face. He trails his thumbs along his cheekbones and twines his fingers through Cas’s messy hair. His fingers skim over the sensitive skin behind Cas’s ear and Cas moans a little into his mouth.

Cas is cautious and careful, maybe in deference to Dean’s injury, maybe because they’re both afraid one wrong move will put an end to this. To reassure him, Dean runs soothing hands up and down Cas’s back, massaging his shoulders until at last Dean feels Cas slip fingers into his hair, threading through the short strands. They kiss slow and deep, mouths opening as tongues slide together. They kiss until they both believe that this won’t end with one of them stomping out and slamming the door. 

“So this is happening,” Dean says stupidly, dragging his thumb slowly along Cas’s lower lip.

“It would appear so, yes.” Cas finds his mouth again and finally relaxes enough to sink down onto Dean, stretching his weight out as he straddles Dean’s left thigh.

Dean feels him then, the line of his growing erection against his leg, and he glides both hands down to untuck Cas’s shirt and uncover the miracle of warm skin. Splaying his hands along the small of his back, Dean pulls down on Cas’s hips, grinding up against him. It’s enough to make Cas stop his exploration of Dean’s jaw and bury his face in Dean’s neck.

Dean works his hands between them to pull off the loosened tie and attempt the never-ending row of buttons on Cas’s shirt, but his mission gets put on hold when Cas lets out a short growl and shoves Dean’s hands out of the way to push up Dean’s remaining two layers. With his mouth clamped to Dean’s collarbone, Cas lightly rolls Dean’s nipples between his fingers until Dean’s breathing quickens. He concedes defeat on the buttons and reaches instead for Cas’s belt.

Dean works the buckle adeptly, feeling pretty smug about that accomplishment as he sucks Cas’s earlobe into his mouth. But a moment later he’s reduced to pawing uselessly at Cas’s fly, all finesse gone when Cas pinches his nipple.  

With a huff of impatience, Cas leverages himself back onto his knees to undo his own pants. Dean manages another shirt button before Cas leans out of reach again to pull his pants all the way off. Kneeling between Dean’s legs, he mouths at Dean’s chest as he tugs open the fly of his jeans.

Dean tosses his head against the pillow, gasping as Cas slips a hand into his open jeans even as he scrapes his teeth against Dean’s nipple. When he’s able to coordinate purposeful movement again, Dean gets with the program and squirms out of his jeans. Staying mindful of his ankle, he abandons the plan to kick them off and pulls them down just over his hips.

Dean urges Cas back up to meet his mouth so he can slot their hips together. He rolls upward in one long, smooth motion that has Cas breaking off the kiss, panting, as he rests their foreheads together. Smiling at the angel’s loss of composure, Dean slides both hands under the waistband of Cas’s boxer briefs, gripping his ass to hold Cas steady while he drags his tongue along the cleft in his chin.

Dean feels Cas’s hot breath at his ear followed by the teasing tip of his tongue and suddenly he has to have _more_. Desperate for skin and sensation and friction, he shoves down underwear, freeing both of their cocks, and even with the elastic biting into his thighs, the hot slide of them together is almost more than he can bear.

Cas whimpers, a breathy sound that might be Dean’s name, and as much as Dean had recklessly plunged forward a moment ago, suddenly he wants to keep Cas here, needy and on the edge. He pulls back a little, pressing his own ass into the mattress to put some space between them, to tease him and make this last, but Cas takes Dean’s face in both hands.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Despite his heavy breathing Cas is calm, solicitous.

Dean turns his head to kiss Cas’s palm before answering. “Not a single one.”

Cas’s eyes glint unearthly blue in the dark. “Then fucking _touch_ me, Dean.”

Flooded with a new wave of arousal, Dean hurries to obey.  In his hand, Cas’s cock is impossibly hot, already sticky-slick with sweat and precome. Cas arches his back and drives into Dean’s fist, his mouth going to the juncture of Dean’s neck and shoulder to suck a hard mark there. That one’s probably going to show but Dean can’t find it in himself to care.

Without warning, Cas pulls away to move off him but any concern vanishes when Cas reaches for Dean, wrapping his long fingers around Dean’s cock almost reverently. Dean ignores the jolt of pain in his ankle as he rolls to face Cas and helps him to lace their fingers together.

Cas clutches at Dean’s shoulder with his free hand, digging in his fingers, bracing himself as their bodies move together. Dean kisses him hard, tugging a little at his hair, reveling in the breathy moans that catch in Cas’s throat with each thrust. The pace quickens, the bed creaks, and Cas’s breath hitches as he moves his hand to Dean’s face. Cas says his name, just once, with a hint of a plea and Dean comes, surging again for Cas’s mouth as he feels himself spurt hot and wet on their joined hands. A moment later, Cas’s hips stutter and he groans long and low. There’s a sudden, sharp pop and the room plunges into darkness as the bathroom light shatters.

After a stunned silence, Dean laughs. “Dude.” Cas doesn’t answer and Dean shifts a little to try and get a look at his face in the dark. “ _Dude_ ,” he says again when he realizes his ankle is completely pain-free.

“My apologies.” Cas sounds like his face is buried in the pillow. “That seems to have gotten away from me.”

Dean laughs again and moves the pillow to kiss Cas firmly. “It’s not your fault. I’m just that good.”

They lie together, breathing each other in. Slowly, Dean realizes he’s still mostly dressed. He’s sticky and tangled up and maybe a little bit in shock.

“So what happens now?” Cas asks in a quiet voice.

“Am I having second thoughts, you mean?”

In the darkness, Dean can feel Cas shrug.

“What happens now is you mojo us clean and fix that light.”

“Of course, Dean.” In an instant the light is back on and Dean can see Cas nervously twisting the hem of his half-unbuttoned shirt.

Dean reaches for his hands. “Then we take a little break and try this again now that I’m at full mobility.”


End file.
